


Steve Squared Make Me Emotional

by venticaramellatta



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Other, just really soft, they both had the same knee injury ok, this is so dialogue heavy im so sorry, what am I writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 11:47:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10616286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venticaramellatta/pseuds/venticaramellatta
Summary: Steven is annoyed he can't play so Steve makes him realise things.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SadRoxas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadRoxas/gifts).



Steven was sat in the press box of the Amalie Arena for what seemed like the one millionth time this season. He watched his teammates down on the ice, losing 3-1 to the Coyotes. The fucking Coyotes. He was getting pissed off. 

“If I was down there, if I was fucking down there, I could help my teammates win this game and we’d be closer to the playoffs,” Steven whispered harshly to himself. He started cracking his knuckles – a nervous habit of his. It was halfway through the second period, they could still win this. Steven had to think optimistically, they made it to the Stanley Cup Final they should be able to beat the fucking Arizona Coyotes. He looked down just as Chychrun netted another one. Steven pulled at his hair; he couldn’t deal with this. The man stood up and started to hobble towards the door when the door flew open. There, in the doorway, was his General Manager. “Fuck,” Steven let out under his breath, he must look awful. His hair was a mess from running his fingers through it and his tie was loosened and top button was undone. 

“Where are you going, Steven?” The older man questioned, his brow furrowing.

“Oh, um, I-” The buzzer for the end of the second period sounded.

“Getting away from this shit hole of a game?”

Steven looked down, ashamed. “I just wanna be out there, I wanna play.” 

“I get it, kid, don’t worry,” Steve patted the player's shoulder and pointed to the stool Steven just pushed himself out of. “Wanna watch the rest of the third period with me?”  
Steven didn’t really think it was a question he could say no to so he shrugged and followed the slightly shorter man to the window. He pulled himself onto the stool and watched the older man do the same. The TV next to Steven’s head was replaying Arizona’s fourth goal.  
“Ah, we’ll turn that shit off, eh?” Steve reached for the remote and the screen turned black. “Don’t want to dwell on our mistakes, always look to the future, kid.”

“That’s not what coach would say,” Steven mumbled, head in his hands, staring down at the empty ice.

Steve loosened his tie. “I’m not coach, kid.”

Steven rolled his eyes at the man's constant use of “kid”. “You know just because I’m younger than you doesn’t mean you can call me kid.”

“Feeling feisty eh?”

“I just want to fucking play ok?”

“It’s fine, I was the same. It's hard to watch your team struggle when you’re off the ice with no way of helping physically, especially when you’re captain.”  
Steven shrugged and faced the game again. Steve pulled out his phone when it buzzed, answering the text with a smile. 

 

The final buzzer sounded and the men in blue stomped down into their locker room. 5-2 was the final score. To lose like that to a bad team is embarrassing. Steve looked at the scoreboard one last time and dragged a hand on his face. Steven was just annoyed at himself and his body language showed it - body hunched onto the counter, hand in his hair and an angry expression on his face. But this face was not aimed at the direction of the locker room. He had no anger towards his teammates. He wanted them to go home and not feel guilty about this shit storm of a game.

Steve tapped the younger man’s shoulder. “Come on, mate, you’re coming home with me.” He wrapped an arm around the taller man’s shoulders and walked slow enough so that the injured man could keep up without straining anything he didn’t need straining. They walked through the arena until the got to the back doors. 

“How did you get here?”

“Vasy drove me.”

Steve nodded. They walked towards Steve’s black BMW and both got in. Steve pulled out of the car park and headed back to his home. 

"Plug your phone in, there’s nothing on the radio, I don’t mind,” Steve stopped at a stop sign. 

“No I’m fine with the radio,” Steven had his elbow on the armrest and his head in his hand, staring out the window, absentmindedly. 

“Jeez, Steven, we need to get you home as soon as possible,” Steve looked over at him, he placed his hand on the non-injured knee and rubbed it gently.

 

Steve pulled into his driveway and cleared his throat. “We’re here, come on buddy.” He stepped out of the car and walked over to Steven’s side. Opening the door, he helped the injured man out of the car. Leading them both up the steps, Steve twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. As soon as the two men made their way into the house all they could both smell was food. 

“Looks like Lisa got the timing right,” Steve smirked, his hand still resting on Steven’s shoulder. 

“What’s she cooking?”

“Lasagna.” Steve hung his coat up and gestured to Steven to do the same. They both headed through to the dinner table. On the table was three plates with lasagna on them and in the middle was a plate of garlic bread. 

“You expected me to come with you?” Steven questioned, gesturing to the third spot. 

“I didn’t think you’d turn it down,” Steve sat down just as his wife came in with a bowl of salad. 

“Hey Steven, please sit down,” Lisa sat down and put the bowl next to the garlic bread. Steven slid into the chair opposite Steve. “Help yourself, there’s plenty for you to have more.” 

“Thank you, Mrs Yzerman,” Steven leant forward to pick up the salad bowl. 

“No, please call me Lisa, Mrs Yzerman makes me feel old,” Lisa said as she picked up a slice of garlic bread. 

They ate in silence – mainly because Steven didn’t have much to say to either of them. Steve glanced at the younger man once or twice as they ate but never started talking to him. Lisa seemed to send Steven worried looks as if she knew something was wrong. Steven managed to finish his plate at the same time Steve did and they sat in silence while they waited for Lisa to finish. She finished and started collecting the other plates. Steve stood and kissed his wife on the cheek before heading to the doorway.

“Do you want some help putting the dishes away?” Steven couldn’t let her do everything.

“No no honey, I think Steve wants you now,” she gestured to where Steve was leaning on the door frame. “Thank you for offering though.” She smiled and disappeared into the kitchen. 

“Come on Steven I wanna talk,” Steve walked into the living room before removing his jacket. He sat on the sofa, laid back, with a loose tie and no jacket. This must’ve been the most relaxed Steven had ever seen his GM. “Well don’t just stand there eh? Come sit down.” 

Steven sat, trying to position himself in a way that he would be comfortable. 

“Here,” Steve handed him a long pillow to help keep his leg straight. “Now, we gotta talk about you and how you gotta stop putting so much pressure on yourself. In the 01-02 season, I had the same injury as you, I had to miss 30 games. That annoyed the shit out of me. I did the stupid thing and played through it, I was in pain the entire time but I felt I was letting the team down.” 

Steve looked at the younger man, he leant forward - elbows on his knees, head resting in his hands. “You need to stop putting so much pressure on yourself. You think that if you get back right now, the season will turn around. It doesn’t work that easily, I need to make some moves and the team need to play as a team again.” Steven looked away, he felt vulnerable in front of his fucking General Manager. 

“If you know what I’m feeling you should know that it’s pretty much normal to be pissed off at yourself for not being out there with the team.” Steven closed back up into a defensive shell. 

“Hey I’m not saying you shouldn’t be pissed off at yourself, that’s fair enough, just do it correctly.”  
Steven looked confused.

“What I mean, is don’t make yourself ill. And don’t hurt yourself anymore, trying to get back on the ice. You’ll just fall into a pit of self-hate and a player at your age should never feel that way.”

“Why are you so fucking wise.”

Steve chuckled and looked at the younger man. “It comes with age, you’ll understand when the joint pain hits you.” 

“How did you accept that you needed to stop playing?” Steven was genuinely intrigued because Steve is one hard nosed bastard who won’t take no for an answer. 

Steve chuckled, looking down. “Scotty benched me, I wouldn’t give up so he benched me.”

“Scotty Bowman benched you? Steve Yzerman?”

“Kid you’re forgetting he almost traded me to Ottawa.”

“If you can be almost traded I’m pretty sure I could be traded at the drop of a hat,” Steven looked down. 

Steve gripped his shoulder. “Don’t worry kid you’re not going anywhere soon.” 

Steven moved suddenly and wrapped his arms around his fucking general manager. Steve didn’t react for a couple of seconds before relaxing into the hug, wrapping his arms around the player. He rested his head on Steven’s shoulder feeling the man grip onto his shirt even harder. 

“I got you, don’t worry,” Steve’s hands moving up and down the back of the younger man. Steven started to sob, Steve could feel the cries rack his body. He kept one arm wrapped around the crying man but moved his other hand up into Steven’s hair, stroking and threading it through his fingers. With Steven’s head in his neck, Steve could feel the tears making his shirt damp, that didn’t matter though; what mattered was Steven being happy. 

The sobs slowed and Steven sat back – Steve kept a hand on the distressed man’s shoulder. He rubbed his eyes with his hands; trying to rid his face of tears. It suddenly hit him what he’d done and he felt ashamed. “Oh my g-god, I’m so s-sorry, I should g-go…” Steven tried to stand and leave but Steve’s hand kept him still. 

“You’re not going anywhere, not in this state. You’re staying in the guest bedroom and that’s final.” 

“I don’t wanna be a burden to your family.” Steven wipes his eyes again.

“You’re not, don’t worry about that, why do you think Lisa made that lasagna?”

“I don’t know…” Steven looked down, defeated. Steve looked at his watch. 

“I think it’s time we go to bed, I’ll give you some of my clothes for you to wear.” Steve lead them upstairs to his bedroom and opened a drawer. “Here take these.” He handed Steven a Tampa shirt and some cotton shorts. 

Leading them to the guest bedroom, Steve gripped Steven’s shoulder. “Get some sleep, you’ll get better, kid.” 

Steven smiled and looked at the ground. “Thanks, Steve.” 

“Don’t worry about it, someone’s gotta look after the captain.” Steve pulled him into a hug. “Lisa’s making breakfast, be up at a reasonable time, eh?”

“Sure will.” Steven turned and opened the guest bedroom door. “Goodnight Steve.”

Steve was walking away when he turned and replied. “Goodnight Stammer.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a mess and i only wrote it because our group chat is a mess. I can't believe I'm shipping my favourite ever NHL player with Steven Stamkos.


End file.
